


Halcyon

by TempestRising



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5 Times, Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied Relationships, Protective Liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestRising/pseuds/TempestRising
Summary: 5 times One Direction taught 5 Seconds of Summer a thing or two / 1 time they returned the favor.





	Halcyon

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why there isn't more 5sos fanfiction (in general) and 5sos / One Direction fanfiction (in particular). It seems like an oversight. I'm trying to single-handedly rectify the situation with one shots. 
> 
> One more for my little sister, who texts me whenever something cute happens.

**Ashton: [to Niall]** Just whilst everyone's here, you know, live, I just want to say thank you bro. You've changed our lives and it's amazing everything you boys have done for us.

**Calum:** And you've corrupted me.

**Luke:** And you know what? You're a lad. All of you are lads.

.***.

**i.**

It was their second day on tour in Australia, and Harry was the first one up. He was usually happy to train early so he can grab some fruit and catch another hour of sleep before the day really began, but they'd spent last night celebrating Liam and Niall's birthdays, again, late, because although Louis had already thrown a party between the pair's twentieths the 5sos lads wanted to hit the town to celebrate, which meant five bars, seven hours, and at least nine male and female strippers sent in Liam's direction. Harry had crawled into Niall's hotel bed at 5 am, leaning against the newly-not-teen as the others smoked on the floor, the open balcony door and windows letting in a breeze that smelled like the ocean. "Good birthday?" he'd murmured into Niall's shoulder, but Niall was already asleep.

Harry had slept for almost three hours before he woke to his phone going off at the end of the bed. Louis threw a pillow at him from the floor, where he'd apparently passed out, and Harry stepped over Zayn as carefully as possible. He didn't bother with a shower. He'd eat some fruit and he'd train for twenty minutes and he'd crawl back next to Niall and sleep.

He was staring into space, popping berries into his mouth on autopilot, when space began to look an awful lot like a grey sweater mum had given him for Christmas. Harry had to blink a couple of times before he realized that the grey sweater was on little Luke Hemmings. "Hey," Harry felt slow and stupid this early and had to state the obvious, "that's my sweater."

Luke had kept up with Niall shot for shot until the Aussie found a girl and was left behind. He mumbled something that Harry didn't understand.

Harry took a deep breath, desperately wishing for subtitles, and it was a year ago, and they were meeting the Australians for the first time, everyone talking past each other. It had happened with Niall, too, to a lesser extent. Niall had broken the habit of mumbling ages ago, and now Harry could understand the Irish boy even when they were both drunk and exhausted. Luke mumbled on stage and during lunch, everywhere, and it took an effort to understand that Harry couldn't muster.

"Sorry?" Harry smiled, nodded to the chair across from him.

Luke sat. "Um, I didn't know it was your *mumble* cuz Zayn *mumble* and *cough mumble*."

Harry wished for proper hangover food, potatoes and beans and gravy and toast, mountains of toast, but they were working for a solid four months and excersize was hard enough to come by on the road. He resigned himself to not understanding anything, ever. God he had such a headache.

"'Wocha doing up?" Luke asked as he got some fruit for himself. There would be hot stuff later, but Harry could just hear the beginnings of the kitchen warming up.

"Training, always. You?" Harry wondered if he'd ever seen Luke up before the sun. "Nightmare?"

Luke shrugged. "Don't remember my *mumble.*"

Harry rubbed his temples. "Mate, I don't understand a word you're saying."

"Oh! Um, sorry, um, I know I like mumble and my brothers give me shit bout it, 's hard enough to understand you lot anyway, and, um anyway I knew this wasn't Ashton's sweater cuz I saw him steal it from Zayn but I didn't know..."

He trailed off when Harry smirked, shaking his head. They used to steal from each other constantly, especially back on X-Factor when they shared a room, suitcases overflowing into closets and onto beds, and eventually they just stopped trying to figure out who had which socks, and if Niall put on Liam's jeans he just rolled up the bottoms and went about the rest of his day, and Harry would take Zayn's hat and slip it down on his head, down over his eyes, and sometimes when he went out like that he could be anyone in the world.

"Sorry," Luke mumbled to his knees. "You can - um, yeah."

The Aussie stripped the sweater off, proffering it to Harry who waved a strawberry at it. "Put it back on, mate, 's cold in here."

Luke slipped further into the fabric. "Sorry," he said again.

Harry was genetically incapable of not being polite, especially when faced with a mass of sorry-looking teen. "You have a good night?"

"Oh yeah. 'S just quick, innit, like, you know, the touring an' the parties an' everything. I just think you know that my mum wouldn't like recognize me like this?"

Harry understood completely. He remembered the first time he went home and felt out of place, Gemma talking about school and his mum about her book club and even Robin joining some sort of woodworking pub group, and they smiled politely at Harry's stories of countries and shows but he stopped talking at some point, not wanting to sound like he was bragging, and they talked about the town he'd grown up in and Harry felt he couldn't squeeze back into his old skin anymore, and he'd sat up at night and at three in the morning found his jeans and shoes and left a note that he had to be back in London and he drove North North North instead, not even knowing where he was going until he was suddenly outside of Louis's home and the sun was rising and a jetlagged Louis was smoking on the front porch and got up and hugged him. And then he was all right again.

He said all this to Luke. Luke was young in a way Harry could no longer remember how to be. He needed to know that even if home didn't feel right anymore, people could become home instead. That somehow if Harry was sandwiched between Liam and Niall that could be home, too. That the smell of Louis's tea and the sound of Zayn's drawled syllables grounded him.

Luke just stared at him and Harry trailed off. Maybe he was no longer making sense. He talked so much nowadays, everyone wanting a word with Harry Styles, and sometimes he wondered if any of it made sense anymore or if he was just talking to hear his own voice.

"I get it," Luke said at last. He spoke slowly and suddenly everything was coming in clear. "It's like when Mikey hugs me."

"Yes," Harry said. "Exactly."

Luke smiled a small smile, and Harry smiled back. "Keep the sweater, kid. It looks good on you."

**ii.**

Zayn lingered near security, which was by far his least favorite place to be.

They were about to all be heading in separate directions, Zayn back home for three days to celebrate his mum's birthday, Liam and Niall on ahead to Asia where the next leg of the tour was starting in a week, Harry and Louis to L.A. and whatever they got up to there, 5 Seconds of Summer back to Australia. "Come on, you'll miss your flight," Liam reminded. Liam had a folder full of their itineraries, even though every member of their team knew it by heart.

"I'll get there on time, I'm not the one who got on the wrong flight," Zayn pointed out, his eyes pointed over Liam's shoulder.

"I told you that wasn't my fault! They shouldn't have let me on the wrong plane. That's national security breaking down right there." Liam's forehead crinkled. "Hey, are you alright?"

Zayn closed his eyes, to cover his surprise. No, he wasn't alright, but he couldn't tell Liam that, couldn't bring himself to tell Louis, even when they were both high and swinging their legs from balconies, about everything. How he was so tired, and too fat, and too skinny, and had too many tattoos, had too few tattoos, had the wrong tattoos, how his head hurt from the moment he woke up, how the screams pounded at his head, that his sisters were growing up and moving on without him, how he thought sometimes about leaving - everything - and those thoughts scared him so much that he'd begun to scream in his sleep, and Louis had been moved into his room because somehow soft Louis made the nightmares stop, sometimes. He was in pain, and he was so fucking tired of being in pain.

If he told Liam now, he'd tell Louis, and Liam wouldn't go to Asia and Louis wouldn't go to L.A. and they'd go to London because those two were the best at the business stuff. They negotiated everything for them, getting Niall time off for knee surgery and Harry time off for him mum's wedding, and if he told Liam the younger boy would go toe-to-toe with the label and Management, but he'd also worry about Zayn, look at him like they did whenever he was hurt, and Zayn couldn't that the pain of being the weak one again.

"I'm fine," Zayn said, because this wasn't about him. He forced a smile, which looked so, so fake nowadays but he hoped Liam would buy anyway. "Go on, Payno, I'll text you when I land."

Liam lingered. "Tell your mum happy birthday from all of us."

Zayn twitched his mouth up into a smile, waited until Liam left, and strode over to where Ashton was still waiting, his face growing stonier by the second. "Hey, what's the hold up?"

"I don't think this guy could pick out Australia on a globe," Ashton said quietly.

Calum was getting his palms swabbed for something or other. "It's fine," the younger boy insisted, though the lines and angles of his body were tense.

It wasn't fine, but Zayn was used to it. Calum had to be, too. How everywhere they went, but especially America, it was the two of them, over and over, who were chosen for random scans, who were held up to be swabbed and wanded and groped. It's never fine but it is what it is.

Calum's voice shook, just a little, if you didn't know him you wouldn't notice, as he answered the security officer's questions calmly and politely, Ashton seething for the both of them.

"Hey," the officer said as he patted down Calum's front and back, his waist, hands sliding along hips and patting down to ankles, "you're that band."

"Mmm," Calum hummed, eyes shut as the man slid his hands back up, moving along the insides of his thighs. Zayn wondered if any of this was necessary. Calum's jeans were so tight his phone was outlined distinctly in his front pocket.

The security officer stood up, pulling out a pad, and Zayn was sure that he was going to write Calum a citation for being brown, order him to stay in Orlando, detained until the debacle could be sorted out. But instead he handed pen and paper over to Calum, smiling. "Can I have your autograph?"

Calum blinked, flush creeping up his neck and into his ears, but he signed and smiled tightly as Zayn put a hand on his shoulder and steered him away.

"Every time," Ashton said, his tone so angry, and Calum ducked his head.

Zayn said, quietly, "We'll meet you at the gate." And Ashton stared at him for a moment, his face so full of righteous indignation, and Zayn didn't know what to say, how to break it to the drummer that as angry as Ashton was, Calum was angrier.

But eventually Ashton walked away, and Zayn turned to Calum. "It's fine," Calum said, quickly, "it's whatever."

Zayn licked his lips. "Want a milkshake?"

Calum looked at him incredulously.

"Look, right, my mum always got us milkshakes when we were feeling down. It's good. Tastes like happiness, you know?" Zayn ordered a chocolate chip cookie milkshake, whatever that was, and then realized he had no money. The girl at the counter, no older than eighteen, gave it to him anyway. Three members of their security team tensed when her fingers brushed Zayn's as the milkshake was handed over.

He grabbed two straws and gave one to Calum. "I don't want this to be a big deal," Calum pleaded. "It's not a big deal. Nothing happens. There's just, like, what, forty people getting on these planes? Forty. And it's always us two who -"

"I know. Drink up."

"And I don't like to complain cuz my family worries anyway, us being on tour, and if I say something to Mikey - he means well - but it'd get back to my mum and -"

"You're not complaining. I get it. Drink. It's good. It's real ice cream."

And Calum obediently lowered his straw, eyelids fluttering shut as he sucked the creamy drink. "It is good," the younger boy said, like he was surprised.

"I used to want to change it. I used to get so fucking mad. You think it's getting back to your family? Louis told my mum as soon as we started flying that I wasn't dealing with it well." Zayn took another sip of the milkshake, and somehow it did taste like joy. "Don't stress. It's just this moment in time, yeah? Maybe our kids won't have to deal with this shit. But if you ever get mad get a milkshake. Everyone's just trying to do their crappy job."

"It does help," Calum mumbled.

The headache was coming back. Zayn could feel the beginnings of it pounding behind his eyes. It was always easier said than done. And Zayn didn't know how much longer he could do it.

"Joke's on that guy, though," Calum said, handing the last bit of the shake to Zayn. "When he asked me for my autograph I signed it 'Harry Styles.'"

Zayn smiled tightly and threw the empty cup away.

**iii.**

They were just wrapping up tech rehearsal in Canada and it was hot, Liam didn't know it could be this hot, had thought that Seattle was like Alaska, never getting like this, like the desert, or the sun.

"Global warming," Louis had told him, irritably. For Louis, the temperature was always wrong. Most of the band's fights had been siding with or against Louis when he wanted the windows on the bus opened, or closed. "And look at them, it's like they don't even care."

Louis and Liam were side by side on the edge of the stage, watching Harry mumble his way through a solo. 5 Seconds of Summer had been hanging around the venue, waiting for Niall to finish up so they could hit the town for lunch. All four Australians looked supremely unconcerned. Ashton was even wearing a sweater. Liam had stripped off his shirt ages ago, and Niall and Zayn followed suit. Harry was practically naked. It just wasn't fair.

"You coming out?" Louis asked when they'd finally finished. "We'll probably go somewhere with air con if that sways your opinion."

Liam checked the time. "Skype date with the missus in an hour."

Louis rolled his eyes which is the sort of thing that made the fans suss out he hadn't any girlfriend in the picture. "We'll get arrested without the sensible one around."

"Then get arrested, I've always fancied a solo show."

Louis clutched his heart as if he'd been hurt then clapped a hand on Liam's shoulder in goodbye. Even Zayn was leaving at the prospect of air conditioning that might work better then the dodgy one at the hotel. Liam watched his boys collect the 5sos boys. All of them except -

"I'll be back in a mo'," Liam said to John, who was trying to go over a cue.

Ashton had stretched out across the newly vacated seats, arms wrapped around his chest. "Hey man, you cold?" Liam asked, trying for sarcastic but ending up worried.

The drummer cracked one eye open. "Yes I am. And if you're gonna make fun of me you can piss off."

Liam raised his eyebrows. That was a response he was more used to getting from Louis, who could be your best friend one minute and calculated and cool as a cat the next. Ashton had always struck him as smiley, gentle, and kind.

Without thinking, Liam put the back of his hand against Ashton's forehead. "Mate, you're absolutely burning up."

The Australian was sweating despite trying to bury himself further in the sweater. "Am not."

Paul had come over in the commotion. "Anything serious?" Serious to the tour manager meant anything bad enough to not perform in seven hours. Six for the opening act.

"No," Ashton snapped, sounding surprisingly lucid. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. It's just cold in here."

Paul opened his mouth and closed it again. They'd learned along the way to believe people when they said they were fine. Zayn came down with every cold and Harry always had a sore throat and Niall was in more braces and boots than anyone cared to count. They hadn't cancelled a show yet.

"I've got him," Liam muttered, hauling Ashton to his feet. Paul nodded and melted away.

Ashton drooped, rubbing his forehead and looking, Liam thought, very young. "How long you've been poorly?" He led them backstage, unable to face the thought of going through all the girls outside to get to the hotel.

"Since before yesterday's show, I guess. It's nothing, Li, you should go grab lunch with the others."

Liam frowned. "They left fifteen minutes ago. Ash, come on, let me take your temperature."

Most of the crew were out exploring the city and Liam tried not to feel jealous. Being rich and famous had its perks. Like being able to get a doctor on command. He'd save that as a last resort. Right now he deposited the Australian on the dressing room couch and dug around until he found a first aid kit. "Open up for the choo choo train," Liam teased, and Ashton rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out.

Liam blinked at the thermometer for a few seconds before realizing that the ridiculously high temperature was in Fahrenheit. He dug his phone out of his pocket and asked Siri to convert a hundred and one to Celsius. "It's not too bad," Liam said, slowly.

"Oh god," Ashton moaned. "Your face. It looks like I'm dying."

"Well," Liam hedged. "It's not good."

Ashton seemed to try to bury himself deep in the couch cushions.

"Come here," Liam said, lifting Ashton's upper body and sitting down, so Ashton's head rested on Liam's lap.

The drummer closed his eyes, his face very white. "Don't want you to get sick."

"Well, that's not going to happen. I actually eat right and exercise, unlike some people I could mention."

"Shut up." But Ashton's brow unfurrowed and all the tension left his body.

Liam acted on instinct, running his fingers through Ashton's hair. When Paul popped his head into the room Liam mouthed for soup. Hopefully the man would bring them some hot clear broth, and maybe some soft bread.

Ashton blinked. He looked tired, but awake, and Liam dug into his memory bank. Sick people liked stories of times people had been more sick. "Did you know I was born dead?" Liam asked lightly.

Ashton stared, then shook his head, and Liam launched into the story, learned second-hand, of course, but every time he got so much as a sniffle his mum would tell him about it all over again, the poor woman's nerves shot to pieces by his childhood spent in hospitals around England, and Liam couldn't help but feel guilty, every time, thinking that maybe if he'd been better, even as a baby, his mum wouldn't have to worry so much.

He talked about the minutia of hospitals until Ashton relaxed, his breathing evening out. They hadn't even had any soup.

Liam was scrolling through his phone when the boys came back hours later. "Shh!" Liam hissed before they could even get the door open.

"There's three annoying Australians who want to get into our dressing room for some reason," Harry said, his voice a low slow rumble, and Liam realized that he'd stopped feeling the nerves in his feet a while ago.

"Keep 'em out, mate."

"No," Ashton said, one eye coming open. He still looked pale, but the clamminess of his skin had disappeared and his eyes were shockingly, thankfully clear. "Let them in." Ashton sat up, levering himself against Liam's chest, which was, Liam supposed, his cue to leave.

He stood up, wavering as pins-and-needles crawled up his shins. He clapped Ashton on the shoulder.

"Hey," the drummer said, and though his voice was rough it was better, which was good. The afternoon was already ticking inexorably towards evening, and they all had jobs to do. "Thank you, Payno. Really."

"It's nothing," Liam said, which was easier to say then trying to explain that he liked to do it. That whenever the boys came down with a sniffle Liam had to be there. He was good with his own pain, preferring to hide away in long, steamy showers, but in the face of a friend's he felt helpless. And so he had to be there, to know how bad it was. They'd all, often enough, embarrassed, brushed him away, but Liam had decided early on that he was going to take care of them. That he didn't mind staying up all night with Niall's pain-driven insomnia, or making exotic hangover cures for Louis. It was his duty, and he was happy to do it.

He nudged Ashton's shoulder on the way out. "You were always my favorite," he said, loud enough for the other three to hear as they stormed in. He closed the door on their protests.

**iv.**

Louis had spent the last five minutes arguing with Zayn, who was his go-to wingman since they'd gotten to America. In the UK, and then, especially, in Ireland, Niall had been on fire, like he had bottled the sun and was letting everyone have some, the energy coming off him in waves and he made them all good and golden, made Louis feel better, stronger, funnier, but jet lag hit Niall hard and he was still recovering - if he was the sun before he was a shadow now, curling in on himself in the evenings with his guitar and a golf game and Harry. So Louis went to Zayn.

"No way, Louis. Not tonight. Look, yeah? Look, we're surrounded. We'd have to wake up fifty people if you want to go out now," Zayn folded his arms over his chest, a sure sign that he was done with this argument, that he was going to spend the night on his phone sat next to Liam, showing each other memes or Tweets, playing videos, and Louis liked that sometimes but tonight he was buzzing.

And, anyway, he knew that Zayn was probably going to curl up, anyway, the boy too fond of sleep. Louis found sleep a colossal waste of time. "In twenty years, are you going to remember -"

Zayn sighed, throwing open his curtain and the crowd roared. He shut the curtain and gave Louis a look. "Where are we even going to go? Cuz some of us aren't of age." He scrubbed a hand over his face, closing his eyes. "And I'm so tired, Louis. How are you not tired?"

Because he had the sun coming out of his fingertips. He went downstairs and down a corridor and tried to look for all the world like he was getting a toothbrush, whatever that expression was, and he knocked on a particular door and waited to be let in.

Michael yawned hugely, scratching the back of his neck. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Louis protested.

Calum was half on top of Luke but he looked up. "I'm in."

"He could ask you to do anything!" Michael pointed out. "He could ask you to like, help him murder someone." He gave Louis a searching look. "He's probably going to ask you to murder someone."

"I'm in," Calum repeated, getting off of Luke gently and searching the ground for his jeans. Then he glanced at Louis. "Is it, like, outside?"

"No we're gonna say right here," Louis said, scathingly. "Of course we're going out, I heard of this wicked -"

"Do you know how to get out?" Ashton asked, lifting his head from the bed. He was laid sideways on top of a mostly-naked Luke. Louis didn't know why he was the one having to fight off all the gay shipping rumors when these boys had so much sexual tension between them it made the air crackle.

But that's why he was drinking. Sometimes he just needed to let off some steam. "Well, no, but we'll figure that out."

"I'm in," Calum said again.

Michael rubbed the back of his neck, flopping next to Luke and pushing Ashton away. "Go on, you know you want to." He raised his eyes to look at Louis. "He's been talking about this all day."

"Well, yeah, you know, Lou, we're touring with these annoying British guys who attract the screaming girls in the thousands." Ashton was pulling on jeans as he spoke, digging into one of the many suitcases and pulling out a shirt at random, a shirt Louis was sure he'd seen on every member of 5sos and Harry.

"You know for a fact half of those girls are here for an annoying Irish fellow," Louis pointed out. Calum had disappeared into the bathroom and Louis raised his voice. "Come on come on the night's a wasting!"

Mikey groaned and pulled pillows and blankets over himself and Luke, and Louis decided he needed to go, now, needed to get out of this room, out of all the rooms, needed to feel the night open up around him, the stars like a carnival. He didn't look behind him. He knew he would be followed.

He led Calum and Ashton down staircases, avoiding their team. Not that they'd actively stop him - everyone knew they were young lads, knew they had to pull, to dance, had to take advantage of being young and alive while it lasted, but there'd be disapproval and well-meaning parent-y sighs, and some nights Louis needed to hear it but tonight he was hell-bent.

The usual way out was the kitchens, and Louis went there first, talking quickly to an old, impatient front of house guy who could be Simon Cowell if Simon were American and ancient. "There's already girls back there," was basically the sum of the conversation. "Sorry."

Ashton could be as personable as Niall when he put his mind to it. Louis tended to be more brusque, to the point, and he lacked the genuine interest. Niall could find something fascinating about anyone, asking questions and gasping in all the right places. It made him a fantastic wing man. It also made everyone in the world, male and female, young and old, think they were being flirted with, not one person used to having someone focus their whole being on being interested. Ashton, in general, was a little more awkward, but as the girls on Twitter said, his smile could bring world peace.

"There's going to be a delivery in fifteen minutes," Ashton said, after he'd talked to a busboy long enough to get a phone number. "The truck'll back up to a loading dock. We can get in and they'll drop us wherever."

"In exchange for?" Louis asked. He'd played this game longer than the Australians. No such thing as free.

Ashton flushed a deep red. "I may have promised that kid - um, Dylan - I said I'd let him buy me coffee in the morning 'when I inevitably have a hangover.'"

"Get it!" Calum crowed, hitting Ashton's shoulder good-naturedly.

Louis huffed and noticed people staring, some getting their phones out. They needed to make themselves scarce until their ride showed. "You said loading dock? Come along, children."

"Someone's been spending a lot of time with Liam," Ashton teased.

Louis tensed and screwed on the nonchalant look that brought shit in the papers. He hoped they hadn't noticed. Everyone grew up fast on tour but there was no reason to worry these guys. They were children.

"Sorry man," Ashton said as they found the right door and enterred a cavernous cement dock. "I - the shit on Twitter -"

"It's fine," Louis snapped.

"You don't look fine," Calum observed. "Is it why you want to go out tonight?"

Louis closed his eyes. Yes, yes it was why he wanted to go out tonight. It was why he'd asked Zayn to go out, knowing Zayn was about the worst wing man in existance, thoroughly taken and far too pretty. Liam was his go-to. Liam, who loosened up under the influence, who had whole-heartedly thrown himself into the touchy-feely type of friendship Louis had with Niall and Harry, who would lead Louis out to the dance floor and they'd be pressed close in clubs, Liam smelling like aftershave and England.

He'd never thought of Liam in that way, but apparently the partying they'd done in America had made the paps think differently, and photos of them at a club, Liam's hands on Louis's hips, had just about broken Twitter. The melt down was amazing. Louis hadn't even heard about Lilo until last night.

And the Australian children would not understand. They thought it was funny. Liam wouldn't understand, either, which is why Louis had been pointedly ignoring him all day, hanging out with the band until moments before the show, sitting with Zayn and not so much as a splash of a water fight, and Liam, who liked to talk things out, had gotten huffy and grabbed Niall after the show, heading back to the hotel without a word but with such a hurt expression that Louis had felt bad, almost.

"It's just," he said, even though he'd sworn he wouldn't put his problems on any more people, it was his new tour resolution, "I knew there'd be, like, speculation whenever I'm papped with a girl, right? But I never thought -"

"You're allowed to be upset," Ashton pointed out. "It's upsetting. You and Harry -"

Louis didn't want to talk about Harry, about how they'd had something good and golden and now they could barely work up a conversation when they were left alone in a room. He'd gone to Liam next. He was friends with Zayn and Niall, of course, getting high with Zayn and taking Niall everywhere, protective and proud as a big brother, but it was Liam with whom he wrote, talking until breakfast places opened, showing each other riffs on the piano. When a fan was especially creepy or an interviewer blatantly flirting, Louis looked to Liam to share the moment, to find Liam already looking at him, eyes bright with laughter. They texted each other about television shows and movies. They named future children.

And Larry had been such a debacle, such a colossal mess, and Louis suspected they'd still be dealing with fallout when they were old and grey. And now there was Lilo. And he couldn't afford to lose Liam. Without the sensible, sensitive lad Louis suspected he'd float, untethered, into the azure ether of fame.

"It won't be like that," Calum said, firmly, as if he could control thousands of speculating fans. "Look, you're not nineteen anymore," said the seventeen-year-old. "As they say in their weird ass country, it ain't your first rodeo, mister. You don't want another Larry? Don't make it one."

"How?" Louis asked, and he meant it to come out bitingly but he just sounded hurt and lost.

Calum and Ashton shared a look and Louis sighed, answering his own question. "Let this be a lesson, children."

"I'm less than three years younger than you," Ashton said mildly.

Louis shrugged. "Fuck 'em. Just don't give a flying fuck. Life's easier." He jerked his chin at the loading bay door's. "Your ride's here?"

"Our ride?"

"Play nice with the other kids. Buddy system. Stick 'em with the pointy end." Louis waved, made sure the Australians had a ride set up for the way back, and then was left alone again.

He stuck his hands deep in his pockets, took out his phone, considered saying something. But this feeling could not fit into a hundred and forty characters. So instead he slipped the phone back into his pocket without reading anything and padded his way upstairs, slipping expertly past eveyone he didn't want to talk to. Harry was leaning against the doorframe to Niall's room and gave Louis a significant look as he passed, and Louis thought that perhaps it all could be fixed, every piece of it, if he could stand the work. But not tonight.

He knocked on Liam's door and Liam answered, phone in hand, Zayn already asleep on the bed. "Hi," Louis said, as if he hadn't been ignoring Liam all day. "Got any room service?"

Several emotions flitted across Liam's face, but he landed on nonchalance. "Where you been?"

"Teaching some kids how to properly sneak out. Matchmaking."

"The usual," Liam finished, eyes crinkling as he shut the door.

The room was quiet, but Louis didn't think that was a bad thing, somehow.

**v.**

They were at Niall's house. Funny how two hours in the car used to make Ashton's skin crawl and now it was nothing, a quick nap and boom, there.

Niall had lured them with FIFA and beer and a home cooked meal. "Cooked by who?" Michael asked, and Niall threatened to eat Mikey's portion himself. The others were in the living room, which was expansive but different from the other boys' houses. They looked barely lived in - and Mikey knew the schedule, knew they probably were - but Niall had a way of breaking things in. He wore the same boots for months, the same shirts for years, and he'd somehow made the house feel like home during the band's short breaks.

Michael said as much to Niall, who was dressing a roast. "Well I wanted to do more of the actual work, I'm not a half bad carpenter, but there'd have to be more days in the week for that." He jerked his head at the wall. "Built those cabinets, though."

"They're very nice," Michael assured, though he was pretty sure he wouldn't know a crap cabinet from a good one. As long as it held stuff...

His hand was slapped and Michael cradled it to his chest. "I just want a parsnip!"

"Go eat some cereal if you're hungry. It's in one of my famous cabinets."

Michael reached for cocoa pops, which he was pretty sure were American. And he had one of those strange moments that happened all the time now, when he was just waking up, of not knowing for seconds, minutes at a time where on Earth he was. It was like vertigo slamming through his body, and he forgot about the cereal and went back to Niall, feeling lost. Niall would ground him. "No carrots?" Mikey complained.

"I don't keep em in the house. If one of me boys came they'd just start chucking them at each other."

"One of your boys," Michael teased.

Turns out carrots weren't the only projectiles lying around. Michael caught the dishtowel easily, placed it carefully through the loop of the drawer handle like he'd seen his mum do a hundred times. "You didn't even know each other five years ago."

Niall shrugged and turned on some music on his phone, which must be connected to speakers somewhere in the kitchen because oldies started playing softly all around them. Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong. The old guard that somehow sounded like cooking. Michael started cutting onions.

"Now mate you're gonna split your finger. Like this. One smooth motion. We'll throw this in with the roast, get some potatoes too. You boys cook on the road? I'm gonna teach you. I know there's plenty of food lying around but it's better if you make it yourself, I promise it is." Niall shrugged, going back to his own part of the counter. Ella Fitzgerald's voice over the speakers. _Sumertime, and the living is easy._ Michael thought about how all the people they were listening to were long dead.

"It's crazy," Niall said, as if they were in the middle of a conversation, and maybe they were, thinking the same thoughts together. "But it's the same for you, right? I think - me da always says things happen for a reason. It sounds like I'm taking it for granted, and I'm not, don't go spreading his around, Mikey, but I think it was meant to happen. I think we were all just waiting for each other."

"That sounds nice," Michael admitted. "Sounds better then stupid coincidence, anyway."

"We worked for it," Niall said. "You worked for it. But they're my boys, same as me brother. From day one."

"I know," Michael said, because he did. "Sometimes I think they're more family than my family."

And suddenly the kitchen seemed very small, because Michael looked up to see Niall looking at him, eyes far away and thoughtful, and the Australian wondered if he'd said too much. "I know," is all Niall said. And Michael liked this. He liked the other stuff, too, bouncing off the walls and being the loudest people on the bus, running around stage. But he liked that he never had to explain much to Niall, that Niall was one of the people on Earth who got it, 100%.

Calum came tumbling into the room, Ashton on his heels. "It's not even in the oven yet?" Calum cried, eyes going wide at the roast still on the counter. "It's gonna be hours, Irish. You're gonna starve us."

Niall chucked another dish towel at him, taking Michael's newly cut onions and pouring them on top of the roast. "It's done, see? But if you're going to starve eat some cereal, it's in the cabinet there. Don't want to be accused of starving you."

Michael realized that he was rather hungry, opening drawers until he found spoons, Ashton hunting in cabinets for bowls, Luke and Calum pulling one cereal after another out of the cupboard. "Coco Pops!" Calum crowed, finding it in the highest cabinet. He and Luke reached for it at the same time and -

The box was open and the cereal went everywhere. If Niall hadn't already closed the oven they would have gone in with the roast. Hundreds of round pebbles sprayed like a rain shower as the box tumbled end of end over end. Ashton plucked it out of the air before it could hit the ground.

For a long moment they all just stared at the destruction. Then Ashton tipped the box towards him. "There's literally none left guys."

Niall started laughing first, his cackle infectious, and soon all five boys were leaning against counters, every time they thought they were done lifting their heads up and seeing Coco Pops on every surface and howling all over again. When they finally snuffled themselves into silence Calum found a dustpan and Ashton began plucking them out of corners.

Michael found a better use for them. He cupped the ones from the counter in one hand and began throwing them in his mouth, in Niall's mouth, in the boys' mouths, throwing them like very small cannonballs. Throwing them everywhere, like it was snowing, except the sun was shining through the windows and Michael felt warm and happy, his whole body still shaking with laughter.

**+i.**

It was long past time for Zayn to learn how to swim, and where better than Australia, with the Australians who all claimed to have swim before they could walk, living up to everyone of their stereotypes.

"It's not that I can't swim," Zayn said placidly. "It's just my thing, you know? What else will be interesting about me if I learn?"

But it was decided that they'd all go to a particular secluded beach and they'd make a proper day of it, the band and crew coming, Lux and Brooklyn getting their own swimming lessons, grills being set up and hamburgers created out of thin air. They'd been back in London and the February Australian sun was a pleasant shock, everyone's skin pasty and white.

Harry was tanning himself on his back, Louis, perpetually tan, talking his ear off about a comic book of Zayn's he'd smuggled onto the beach, and Harry was grinning into the sand. Liam had a surfboard but fretted near the shallows as Luke and Ashton got Zayn on his back, his face pointed at the clouds. Niall oscillated between arguing with Sandy about music, tasting the hotdogs, and fending off Lou, who kept trying to slather more sunscreen on him. 

"Boys, oy, lads, come here!" Liam waved from the water. "Zayn's doggy paddling!"

"I hate you," Zayn muttered, trying to keep a proud smile off his face as the Australian lads pushed him further away from shore. A wave lapped under him and Zayn flailed, grabbing onto the edge of Liam's surfboard. 

Mikey laughed good-naturedly. "I don't like it either. All my classmates would go to the beach and I'd go home and dick around on the guitar." But for all his talk Michael was bobbing easily in the sea, none of them any longer able to reach the bottom.

The ocean was amazingly smooth, the water clear enough for Zayn to see, a hundred yards away, an ancient turtle swim along in a current. Even an animal could do this better than him. 

"You know," Zayn pointed out, "I don't have to ever learn how to swim."

"Three quarters of the world is ocean," Calum pointed out. "That's a lot of places to be afraid of forever."

"It's a life skill," Ashton said. "I promise you're okay. We're not that deep. Your body won't let you drown."

No, but he was spluttering every time water got into his mouth, which was open so he could gasp when eh was tickled by sea weed or a particularly brave fish. "And you're sure there's no sharks?"

"Oh, wait, there's one coming now! Oh my god we're all going to die!" Luke pretended to be dragged underwater, cutting through the waves far less awkwardly than he walked on land.

Zayn flicked the wrist that didn't have a death grip on the surfboard. "I hate all of you."

"It's okay. You're okay." Liam had learned how to swim in utero, probably. "Let go of the board, Zayner, come on, flip onto your stomach."

From this vantage point he was no longer staring at the shore. He faced the ocean, the miles of nothingness, the horizon. And for a moment, as the current curled around his waist, Liam's hand on one shoulder blade, 5sos tumbling around them like seals, he could understand why this would be peaceful. 

And suddenly everyone was there, Niall laughing as he and Calum wrestled under water, Louis and Harry picking their way in more slowly, talking like they'd been for weeks, like they used to do years ago, unable to keep their eyes off each other, and it was the five of them abreast in the ocean. They were not show dogs or spoiled brats, as the media labeled them. They weren't pop stars either, the biggest boy band the world had ever seen. Here they were just five friends, hands pressed to skin, arms loops through arms, heads leaning together, watching the sun set over a foreign land.


End file.
